Fix Me
by RaisedOnRadio
Summary: He was never sure whose emotions he was drowning in. [one shot]


Fix Me

1542 words, written on 11-24-15

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You may have heard there is a new translation of one of Fuyumi Ono's original short stories out. It is called His Reality and was recently translated into English by CSakuras. You can find a link to it on my Tumblr, username RoseandRadio.

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Twelve-year-old Oliver Davis woke up with a strangled gasp. He tried to sit up, but ended with barely lifting his head. He had worn his body to exhaustion already. His heart pounded. He breathed deeply through his nose, but it did not alleviate the feeling of lack of oxygen. He resorted to open mouthed gulps of air.

It took a moment to situate where he was. His room. Not in a pool, or a river, or a bathtub. It was twilight outside; he must have slept through the day. His bedside lamp was on, sending a warm light through the room. His blankets and patchwork quilt were tangled in a knot at the bottom of the bed, spilling onto the floor.

His brother sat next to the bed. Eugene was keeping vigil over his twin, frail after a losing control over his PK again. The little stool Eugene used gave him just the right height to rest his elbows on the edge of the bed. He was not sleeping. He studied Oliver's face with an unusual somber expression.

Oliver feebly reached up and brushed his hair away from his forehead. The hair was soaked, and panic raised in his throat again until he realized it was from sweat, not water.

"Do you want me to call Luella?" Eugene asked.

"No," Oliver said. He wanted his words to sound sharp but he knew they came across as dull and worn.

"What did you see?" Eugene asked.

"Go away Eugene."

"Do you need some water?"

Oliver's throat constricted again. He closed his eyes. "No," he said, even softer than before.

"Are you cold?"

Though the sweat contested the notion, Oliver managed a small nod.

Eugene stood up and straightened the quilt that was twisted at the bottom of the bed. He pulled it up over Oliver and settled it around his shoulders. Oliver didn't open his eyes.

Eugene took his place by the bed again. He knocked on the door to their minds and Oliver let him in. Speaking telepathically with Eugene did not take physical strength from him like using his PK did.

" _Who was the nightmare about?"_ Eugene asked.

 _I don't know,"_ Oliver said. _"I think every drowning victim just flowed together."_

Eugene knew that meant both accidents and murders.

Eugene sat up straighter and absently rubbed his arm, where a collection of marbled sized bruises were fading. Sometimes Oliver did far worse than dreaming. At least everyone had managed to duck for cover the time rocks the size of golf balls had started falling. Eugene wasn't sure if rocks were the right word. Normally they were not even visible, and there was nothing left behind for proof, except for bruises and dings in the floor.

" _I'm feeling better,"_ Oliver said. At the same moment, another thought overlaid the sentence. Eugene was sure it was something along the lines of _'You can go now.'_ The messy communication showed that Oliver was anything but better.

Eugene hesitated for a moment, and Oliver noticed it before Eugene could close their mental door.

" _What?"_ Oliver said. Not speaking meant he could send the proper strength and irritation in his words.

"Martin invited someone over," Eugene said. "He should be here any minute."

"Someone…for me?"

"Yes. You had told Martin he could do so, do you remember?"

Panic and embarrassment, the thoughts of _I don't want a stranger to see me like this_ flooded from Oliver through their link. Oliver struggled, and only managed to roll over. Eugene would have found it funny if not for the fire in Oliver's eyes.

"Help me up," Oliver finally said.

Eugene did, not even requiring a 'please' this time around. He propped up the pillow around his brother and helped him into a sitting position. The quilt was straightened again.

Oliver was paper white, his eyes dark underneath. His hair was dirty but that just couldn't be helped. Oliver palmed his eyes and steadied his breathing. He was also clearing up any remaining tears.

They heard movement and voices downstairs. When Oliver found that his hands were shaking, a residue from the dreams, he slid them under the quilt. There was a gentle knock on the door. Eugene jumped up and opened the door ten inches, assessing whatever danger waited out there. He eventually stepped back and let them in.

Martin and Luella came in. Oliver's attention was focused on the man that followed after them. He was tall and lithe. A thick fringe of black hair covered one eye – in fact, most of that side of his face. His face was calm and self assured but he was younger than Oliver had expected. He was also Asian but that came as no importance to Oliver. Many nationalities and races worked in the parapsychology field.

"May I speak to him alone for a moment?" the man said to Luella and Martin. Luella looked over at Oliver, who nodded.

" _Should I stay?"_ Eugene asked Oliver.

" _No,"_ Oliver said, and added because he knew it was the only way to get rid of him, _"You can just listen in through the link."_

The three other members of the Davis family left and shut the door behind them. Oliver shut their mental door as well, much to Eugene's dismay, he was sure. It was nice to know he was still able to deceive his brother occasionally.

"You are Oliver Davis?" the man said.

"Who is asking?" Oliver said. He would have liked to cross his arms but he left his trembling hands under the quilt.

"I am Koujo Lin," he said. "I am what can be considered an expert in Chinese sorcery. Your parents have described your abilities to me."

"And you're here to cure me?" Oliver scoffed. "You're not the first one, so get in line. I don't want to be experimented on."

"I am not looking to fix you," Lin said. "There is no reason to get rid of talents that were given to you. You only need to know how to control them."

"And you can do that?"

"As a matter of fact, I think I can."

"What do I need to do? Give over some blood, recite some spells?"

Lin made no reaction. Oliver disliked feeling small and helpless next to him. Lin could easily snap Oliver's neck, and there was an uneasy feeling that maybe that was exactly what the tall man wanted to do.

"Your sharp tongue does not help matters," Lin finally said.

"It's the only weapon I possess," Oliver said. He suddenly swayed. Lin moved more fluidly than expected, because he was suddenly there, supporting Oliver with a hand on his shoulder.

Oliver flinched. He could feel the scorn – or maybe, one could go as far as hate – rolling off of the older man.

"Don't touch me," Oliver said and shrugged Lin off. The outburst took what little energy he had left. "How can you despise me? I don't even know you."

Lin lowered his eyes and carefully sat on the stool Eugene had vacated. He was still tall but not towering.

Lin folded his hands in front of him. He seemed taken aback that Oliver had sensed the emotions within him so easily. "I cannot stand the Japanese," he said. "They have brought only pain and ruin to my country."

"I'm not Japanese. I'm British," Oliver said, crossing his arms despite his hands. "I was American before that. So your thought process is stupid."

A silence stretched between them, yet unexpectedly the tension seemed to ease up.

Oliver asked, "How old are you?"

"Twenty-three."

"What makes you qualified?"

"I don't have any paperwork, if that is what you are looking for," Lin said.

"You look like you've already decided I'm a lost cause."

"I have not decided anything," Lin said. "That is your job."

Oliver opened his mouth and remembered the sensation of it filling with water. A cold liquid darkness surrounded him, and there was a rush in his ears. The sound was more so the blood beating through his veins than the water around him.

Lin continued, "I would recommend Tui na, in conjunction with Qigong."

"I see."

"It is acceptable to admit if you don't know what it is."

"I'm sure I have read about it at one point. Reading is sometimes all I'm capable of."

"This will be physically taxing. You may not be capable of it."

"I need to control the memories," Oliver said. His voice cracked with emotion that he could not suppress. "Sometimes I see things that have happened. Sometimes I can help people because of it. Sometimes I can't, and the memories play in my head over and over, unbidden, like they hope that somehow I'll find the clue I missed. I can't live my own life, and I feel guilt that I want to."

Lin met Oliver's eyes. "You seem to have lived more than twelve years in this lifetime alone."

Oliver looked down. His hands had finally stilled. He wondered what it would have been like to have lived his own twelve years. But it was not something to dwell on, because his life had not turned out that way.

Oliver said, "How soon can we start?"

"I will return tomorrow morning," Lin said.

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Thanks for reading ~


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